A Prayer For My Daughter
After Yeats
That you will read this when I’m gone
And not be sad or tied to anyone
(Unless self-tied) including me,
Who as, I hope, a happy memory
Will have some form of life inside
Your head, not as a father or a guide
But as a simple loving friend
Until you die, and then content to end;
That you will not regret your life
As lover, mother, single-parent, wife,
Whatever you should choose to be
In your relations with contemporaries;
That you will say I learned from my mistakes;
That you will be delivered from the fakes
And perverts you will no doubt meet
In every city, down every street;
That you will sieve the dust of words
And filter out the sly, absurd,
Wicked, false and downright bland;
That you will think about and understand
A thing before you call it A
Or B, before you yield or disobey;
That beneath the sky of your last night
On Earth, free from hatred, pain and spite,
You will breathe in peaceful air.
That’s my prayer.
For Ellie
Wood Bee Poet 